O'Neill's Bait Shop
by Lothithil
Summary: Inside Jack O'Neill's head shortly after "Frozen". Spoilers for "Abyss". This was my first SG-1 fanfic, dregged up from the depths of the Jackfic archives.
1. part one: O'Neill's Bait Shop

**O'Neill's Bait Shop  
part one**

Thankfully, I don't remember a thing.

I don't remember being lifted and placed in the isolation chamber again. I don't remember the stifling sense of claustrophobia I endured, which by the way is so totally unfair to inflict on a semi-conscious man, helpless and enclosed as if in a plastic coffin ... or one of those damned Goa'uld sarcophogi.

And I also don't remember the slick touch of the symbiote as it glided past my lips, or the tearing bite in the back of my throat and the writhing and rough skin of the thing as it wormed its way inside my head, laying up next to my brain like a spawning salmon. I don't remember it at all, so don't ask.

Because if I did remember any of these things, it might piss me off royally.

Okay, I can act like an idiot at SGC and get most people to halfway believe it. Heck, sometimes even **I** believe it. I can't fool myself now.

Yes, I remember it. Every moment since Carter woke me up and talked me into this. If I had the strength I might kick my way out of this coffin and take it all back, tell Carter no way, no deal, no thank you very much. I don't want one of those damn things poking around in my mind again. There's little enough room in here for me and my memories.

How? How on earth could I have agreed to this? Fear of death, sense of duty, pity for Carter ... she begged me to do this. She had to know how I'd feel about it, that I'd rather be dead than have a snake in my head-- and yet she asked, pleaded, and pinned me with those blue eyes that I can see even now in against the red-shot darkness of closed eyes.

I suppose it doesn't matter now; it's done.

But ... God _damn_ it!

The alternating waves of heat and cold fade swiftly, and I am left feeling weak but alive. I can't see, can't open my eyes though I keep trying. I am not in control any more. I am no longer alone in here.

_"He fights."_ The husky, reedy sound of a Tok'ra voice. I can hear it clearly, can tell that the speaker is standing very near, above my head and to the left; if I could move my arms, I could touch them._ "I have never seen one struggle so fiercely. Perhaps it is too late after all. We should halt the blending."_

Yes! Stop it! I don't want a bait shop in my head!

_"Kanan did not think so. We must give them some more time."_ Selmak's voice? That means that Jacob is here. Why won't he stop this? Why can't he hear me? Jacob! I don't want this any more!

Someone is twisting a filet knife in the base of my skull. Suddenly I can smell so many things, and my stomach jumps sickeningly. I am glad I can't move, or I would have rolled off of this slab and vomited on some Tok'ra's shoes. I can smell a snake, smell the pungent fluid that the symbiote are preserved in. I can also smell stone and water, sweat, musky odors of living things, sharp bitter clinical smells, too.

Okay, this officially sucks. I can't move, can't see, can't speak, and now I can't sleep. I feel as if I've been wadded up and shoved in a closet, the door closed on me despite my screams against the dark. Don't shut me in here! There's a snake in here, too.

But they can't hear me.

If I ever get out of this one, I swear to God that I'll eat a bullet before enduring this again.

Someone opens my eyes, but I know it isn't me. This is wrong on – _oh!_ so many levels! God damn it, and God help me!


	2. part two: Jack in a Box

**O'Neill's Bait Shop  
Part Two: Jack in a Box**

There is a mess of droning voices, movement in the blurred screen before me. My eyes have a dry, poached feeling. My skin is burning, but inside my head and stomach I feel cold ... like fumbling in the dark half-expecting to feel a snake slither over your blind fingers ...

Just another peachy day in the life of Col. Jonathan J. O'Neill, USAF.

"Jack, can you hear me?" Jacob's voice cuts through the calliope. A drowning man and a life-preserver, I grope toward him mentally, but I can't so much as flicker an eyelid at him. "Jack. This is Jacob. Trust me. It is going to take some time before you are able to speak or move. I know how you feel – remember, I've been through this, too. Just try to relax and let Kanan heal you. You're still very sick." I distantly feel pressure on my shoulder as he places a hand there and gives me what might have been a reassuring squeeze if the circumstances had been anything else.

I want to speak, just long enough to make it clear how much fun I am _**not **_ having. Can't even grind my own teeth – this is a helluva deal.

The vague blurry image that I assumed was Jacob moved out of my line of smear and is replaced by a darker figure. The distinct sound of a Tok'ra's voice, the reedy timbre pitched lower than human, speaks next.

_"I am here."_

My lips moved, my breath was spent, but it is not my voice. This is so weird.

"Kanan." The Tok'ra hovering in my vision places a hand on my shoulder, just as Jacob had a moment ago. "I had feared too much time had passed. It would have been a great tragedy if you had died."

_Tragedy._ An overwhelming sense of loss fills me, a feeling with which I have long been familiar and yet now seems like a completely new sensation. For a moment I forget trying to move or make noise, but draw back and listen, take reconnaissance of my own body. Beside this feeling of loss is building a surge of anger, another emotion I am overly-familiar with, but this anger is also not mine.

Eyes are closing, the drapes are being drawn, the candle is going out ... and we are alone in the dark.

* * *

_I am Kanan. Please try to calm yourself. Your anxiety is counterproductive._

_I think I'll hang on to it, if it's all the same._ Damn, this is so strange. I am not speaking, just thinking, these words, and yet I know that he could tell if I were to try to lie.

_I know that you do not wish for this blending,_ Kanan continues. _However, your body is dying of disease and I can heal it. Why did you agree to this if you do not wish to live?_

Carter's face flashes in my memory, and to my chagrin I know that Kanan sees her just as clearly. He hears her plea, feels the memory of her tears on my face. _Stop that. I don't want you to see my __memories.  
_  
_I cannot help but see and know these things you remember, O'Neill. I cannot close them out, just as you cannot close out my memories and feelings._

_Watch me. I don't want to know you. Just do your thing and get out. They said they'd try to find you another hotel, so don't get too comfortable._

It feels as though Kanan is smiling. He better not be using my face for that. _Your capacity for pretense is admirable. No wonder you are considered a most skilled agent for your government. You are valued by the people with whom you have worked, and yet they know so little about you. They do not know how you truly feel._

_They know enough. And I don't need you to tell anyone about what you find in my head. Don't forget I'm doing you a favour, too.  
_  
_I do not forget. Do you not realize that I must now trust you as well?_

Silence for a while, floating in the darkness. Why can't I sleep through this part? Why can't I wake up and have this be all over and forgotten?

_We must reach a bargain, O'Neill._

_What?_

_I can heal you and then leave, but there is something I want in return._

_You get to tell the Tok'ra your intel. That was the bargain I signed up for._

_There is more. I want something more._

Oh, I knew it wasn't going to be that easy! _What do you want?_

_On my last mission, I was imprisoned by Ba'al. I was compelled by duty to escape and make my report, for the lives of many Tok'ra were at risk. Ba'al's lo'taur Shallan helped me to escape, but I was forced to leave her behind. As it is, my host was slain and I barely survived._

_What I have learned in Ba'al's fortress may well help the Tau'ri as well. But now I find I cannot endure not knowing if she has survived. If she lives, Ba'al surely will have imprisoned her. She would endure horrific tortures at his hands. I wish to return and learn her fate, and if possible bring her out of her bondage._

_With your help._

_I thought you Tok'ra believed in making 'necessary sacrifices'. Why are you suddenly all mushy about one ..._ and as quick as that, I understand. _You loved her._

_Before I was implanted –_ I wince at the word I never want to hear again _– and came to know your mind, I was prepared to accept her sacrifice, for I knew that you would not desire to remain my host __and the chance of finding another is unlikely. But now I am filled with such feelings as are not familiar, and I find the thought of her sacrifice unbearable. You have the skills to infiltrate Ba'al's fortress. You can free her if she still lives. This situation can not go unresolved. Help me, and I will sacrifice myself to leave you as you wish._

_Why not get your Tok'ra buddies to help you out?_ I know the answer already, but my feelings are still somewhat perverse.

_They will not understand. We must not tell them about her, nor our plans to free her. Once I have debriefed from my last missions, upon the recovery of your health, we will free her. I know you will help me, O'Neill. I can see it in you that you will not refuse. You understand me._

_I guess I do._ As I lie in silence, feeling the heat leaving my body as Kanan obliterates my illness, I find myself exploring memories of a sweet face, a desperate sadness, and the unguarded freedom of her love. Too sweet to recoil from, the frank knowledge of their intimacy. I know that if it had been me instead of Kanan that I could not have left her behind, and that I could not now refuse Kanan's request.

_You Tok'ra have more to learn from us Tau'ri that you care to admit_ is my eventual grumbling assent.

A feeling of contentment, hope and health is now spreading throughout my body and mind. I'm glad that Kanan has decided to leave the conversation. I really do want to sleep through this part.

_fin_


End file.
